Alsace sits about as far from the ocean as you can get and still be in France, pressed against the German border, closer to the Rhine than to any tide. And yet every night during my apprenticeship, a truck arrived before dawn carrying wooden crates packed with crushed ice, and inside them: turbot, Dover sole,…
My mother did two things exceptionally well: French meringue, and strawberries in cream. But the dish I measure my childhood against is île flottante, the Sunday dessert. Every Sunday, a big bowl of crème anglaise sat in the middle of our table, and floating lazily on top, one big airy cloud of poached egg white:…
The Knife a Japanese Architect Carried Into My Shanghai Kitchen My first restaurant in Shanghai was called Shikumen Bistro, in the heart of Xintiandi —…